


If Mr. Downing Had Never Invaded Outwood's House

by nimiumcaelo



Category: Psmith - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Sedleigh years, Skinny Dipping, collection of moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 07:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14350965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimiumcaelo/pseuds/nimiumcaelo
Summary: Idk I didn't really like this fic but then it kinda just happened so idk???Anyway I'm probably gonna write something else with this idea but yeahThanks for reading :)- M





	If Mr. Downing Had Never Invaded Outwood's House

Psmith, having collected his deck-chair and book, ambled languidly across the cricket field towards the trees, where Mike was sitting. He placed his deck-chair so he was facing Mike and sat down, raising the book to his face primarily as a way to block the sun from his eyes.

Mike glanced quickly at this new arrival. “Hullo,” he said. “Took you long enough.”

“Yes, I was informed rather rudely by Comrade Stone that my signature coiffure was akimbo. This, of course, led to my becoming detained in front of the looking-glass, assuring myself that where Comrade Stone sees disarray and disorder, all with sharper eyes merely view the result of twenty minutes’ or so hard labor with a comb.”

Mike frowned. “Why’d he say that? Your hair was fine last I saw.”

“Thank you, Comrade Jackson. You are in possession of undoubtedly the sharpest eyes I have yet had the privilege to behold. This enables you to view without restraint the visage of the fair Psmith without being held back by the unfortunate results of such forces as the wind.”

Mike turned back to his book.

“Because it _is_ important,” Psmith continued, “to always appear at one’s best. The unruffled, insouciant gentleman is the pinnacle of achievement. To show outward signs of wear is to be cruel to one’s companions, and that goes directly against the pillars of socialism. How might you feel, Comrade Jackson, if I continually wore shoes that squeaked or had a speck of dust upon my nose? The word would go ‘round the school, ‘Psmith is becoming a burden. He is not contributing to our collective environment in a Positive Manner. This is a Thing that Must Be Stopped.’”

“You’re forgetting the possibility that nobody would care.”

“That is because that is out of my control and, philosophically, I choose to ignore it.”

“Alright,” said Mike, “but could you move back a little? I can’t stretch my legs like this.”

“If I move, Comrade Jackson, the Sun will once more initiate an attack on my retinas, something which must be avoided at all costs, if I am to keep my visage youthful and vibrant.”

“What if you just move your chair beside mine? Then I could stretch out _and_ you wouldn’t have the sun in your eyes.”

Psmith sniffed, “Because then, dear Comrade Jackson, I wouldn’t be able to view your inspiring visage as well.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has _everything_ to do with _something_ ,” Psmith declared, but moved his chair beside Mike’s.

Mike frowned and stared at his book.

 

~

 

“Are you chaps awake?”

“Is that you, Comrade Jellicoe?”

“Smith?”

“It is he.”

“Oh. Well, yes, I’m Jellicoe. I was just wondering whether you chaps were still awake.”

“I am, as can be evidenced by my continued conversation. Comrade Jackson, on the other hand, appears to be either suddenly and completely deafened or cradled in the sweet arms of the dreamland.”

“Hm. Well, I’m beastly hot. Would you mind if I cracked the window a bit?”

“The same notion passed my mind only moments ago. I would have no qualms if you were to be so kind as to let out some of this stuffy air.”

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Much pleasanter, thank you, Comrade. I can feel the soft breeze o’er the downs already brushing against my flushed corpus.”

“That’s good, I suppose.”

“It is magnificent. The only thing which would make this moment of camaraderie more complete would be if Comrade Jackson were present and conscious enough to partake in this conversation.”

“I could wake him, if you’d like?”

“No, no, don’t bother. Our Comrade Jackson is in possession of a delicate constitution and one which rankles against sudden intrusions against his sleeping schedule. Let us let him lie.”

“Try saying that five times fast.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing. G’night, Smith.”

“Good night, fair Comrade Jellicoe.”

 

~

 

Mike waited for his tea to cool before sipping gingerly at it. Psmith was engaged in untangling some algebraic concept, a feat which required no small amount of his concentration. Mike, on the other hand, had given up on his maths several minutes ago and was staring dismally out the window of their study, wishing faintly for Mr. Downing to contract some fatal disease.

“I say, Smith?”

Psmith blinked owlishly at him. “Eh? Something the matter, Comrade Jackson?”

“Oh, no, nothing of that sort. I was just wondering if you were nearly done.”

Psmith consulted the books before him. “I believe I have nearly a quarter-of-an-hour’s work left to be completed. Why? Does Sedleigh have need of the great Psmith’s personality in such a sensitive capacity that it cannot wait even that paltry amount of time? Or is there a more personal emergency to be dealt with? Have you contracted pneumonia, Comrade Jackson? Or measles?  Fallen in love with some fair damsel who will only wed you if you return her post within the next five minutes? ”

“No, I’m fine. Just bored, is all.”

“Ah. Well, fear not. Your Psmith shall be finished momentarily.”

“Good.”

Mike looked back out the window, musing.  _Your Psmith._

 

~

 

Mike, flushed from exertion, tumbled off of the cricket pitch and into the pavilion. Psmith handed him a glass of water and commented mildly on Mike’s success in the game.

“Oh, yes,” Mike replied, distracted. “The wicket was good, I suppose. Beastly hot, though. I feel like I’m melting.”

“You do not appear to be, if that is any consolation.”

Mike downed the water and wiped his forehead against his sleeve. It really was very hot out and the sun had burned him across the bridge of his nose and the back of his neck.

“Good Lord, what I wouldn’t give for a cold bath right now,” Mike moaned. “I don’t suppose there are any open?”

“No, unfortunately. However, I believe the river is quite freely flowing, if you are not particular about the location of your bath.”

“Might as well,” Mike said sagely. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?”

Mike blinked wearily at Psmith who, apparently, had managed to get pink across the cheeks despite spending the afternoon in the shade.

“I would be delighted, Comrade Jackson. Such communal use of our natural resources is the epitome of socialism.”

Mike stood, then, and shuffled towards the river with Psmith ambling beside him. Peeling off his dirty cricket whites was with Mike the work of a moment, and the water was delightfully cool to his overheated senses. Psmith took longer to undress, folding his clothing neatly and placing them atop a nearby bush,  and then wading out to where Mike was floating  on his back .

“If I died right now,” Mike mumbled blissfully, “I wouldn’t even be bothered.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, though disagree.”

Mike opened one eye. “What, you’d mind dying right now?”

“Not necessarily, though that is a base instinct which is hard to ignore. I meant, however, that I would mind _your_ dying right now, Comrade Jackson. Your premature death would chafe with me endlessly and I doubt I would ever recover fully from the strain.”

“Thanks, I suppose. I didn’t mean it in a grisly way, though.”

“Neither did I. We are, as ever, on the same page. If there were a physical Book of Life, your portion and mine would both be present upon the same section of paper.”

“Mm,” Mike hummed, then closed his eyes again. “Smith?” he mumbled after several moments.

“Yes, Comrade Jackson?”

“Thanks.”

“You are, of course, welcome, though I confess I do not know to what deed of mine you are referring.”

“Oh, I don’t know. All of them.”

“Ah. Well, one does try to be helpful. I am gratified that I have succeeded in that endeavor.”

Mike smiled  at something he couldn’t quite grasp.

 

~

 

Psmith shivered and shut the dormitory door behind him.

“Comrade Jackson, I do believe I have somehow managed to offend several bulbous rain-clouds in some way these past several days. They have taken a marked dislike to my person. When one of them spotted me innocently staggering along the pitch, he alerted the general community and all of them put together to create a massive storm.” The statement was punctuated by a particularly loud thunderclap.

“Hm?” Mike looked up from his book. “Oh, I say, Smith – you’re soaked!”

“The fact had not eluded me.”

Mike stood and walked over to Psmith, who was struggling to remove his waterlogged waistcoat.

“Here,” said Mike. “Let me give you a hand.” He undid the buttons on Psmith’s waistcoat and removed it. “Shall I get you something dry to put on?”

Psmith smoothed his wet hair back from his forehead. “That would be absolutely wonderful of you, Comrade Jackson. I believe you will find the appropriate garments in the third drawer from the top.” Psmith then removed his shirt, trousers, and socks.

“Are these all right?” Mike held up various articles of clothing.

“Perfectly adequate for the situation, yes.”

Mike handed him the things and  Psmith dressed, suppressing a shiver.

“You have saved me, Comrade Jackson,” Psmith declared gallantly. “Where previously I had been but a shadow of myself, wasting away with chill and drenched to the bone, you have swept in and returned me back to my usual state, albeit still vaguely damp around the edges. If ever there is a family reunion in the years to come, I shall relate this tale to my grandchildren, telling them of how my existence was only continued by your charitable intervention.”

“I’m always happy to help,” Mike responded awkwardly. “Here, why don’t you sit down? There’s tea and I can fetch you a blanket.”

“And still you persevere!” Psmith sat down and let himself be draped over with a blanket. “I am in awe of you, Comrade Jackson, my very own _preux chevalier_. How ever can I repay you for this service to the Psmith legacy?”

Mike smiled and handed Psmith a cup of tea. “Oh, I don’t know. There’s always something.”

“Is there?”

Mike sat down on a chair beside Psmith. “You could just kiss me and get it over with.”

Psmith blinked, then flushed. “How forward of you, Comrade Jackson. I must say I enjoy this manner of directness, it suits you.  Shall I?”

“Whenever you like.”

Psmith set his cup of tea down. He leaned over and kissed Mike, then kissed him again.

Needless to say, it did not take long for him to warm up completely.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk I didn't really like this fic but then it kinda just happened so idk???  
> Anyway I'm probably gonna write something else with this idea but yeah  
> Thanks for reading :)  
> \- M


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